When m’lady and I were planning our entire-west-coast Phish+ tour she pulled a Phish-ninja move and suggested that we order tickets for every show except the two night stint at The Gorge. She had been to The Gorge many times – in fact it was m’lady’s favourite outdoor venue (“Have you been to Red Rocks?!?” I asked her…she just nodded solemnly) – and she said there were always a million extra tickets floating around. If we didn’t score tickets for free in the lot surely we’d get them for ten bucks a night; twenty tops.

Shortly after we pitched our tent on July 26th, 2013 we realized that things had suddenly changed. Everywhere you looked was a sea of other Phish-ninjas with their fingers in the air. After countless stops at The Gorge the Phish fans all collectively decided to not buy tickets and the entire camping area was scrambling. We quickly finished up our self-imposed welcome-drinks and headed straight to the box office, where we knew plenty of tickets were waiting.

We found ourselves a few steps behind about five hundred other ninjas who had come to the same conclusion and found a heck of a lot of people waiting for all those waiting tickets. And astoundingly enough, there were only two ticket windows open to fill this massive insatiable need for service, alongside an insulting row of closed and shuttered ticket booths.

As we waited (and waited) in the line it became increasingly clear that some or all of us us were going to miss at least the first major chunk of the concert. It also became increasingly clear that some people were sidling up to the front of the crowd ostensibly to check out the situation and were then squeezing themselves into the edge of the haphazard line close to the front.

I saw this happen several times and soon had enough. Then I did something I’ve never done before; I called out one of the butter-inners.

“Hey, hey you!” I yelled. “You,” I said, pointing, “In the white t-shirt.”

Dude glances at me and immediately looks away.

“Yeah, you man! You can hear me. You weren’t there before!” Still he looks away. “C’mon man, you weren’t there before, you know and I know it. You…in the white t-shirt!”

I kept at him and finally, again he looks at me.

“We all learned it in kindergarten man,” I said, exasperated. He shrugged and walked away, his head down.

One tiny victory. The nervous energy had me vibrating inside.

I was happy to see that from then on whenever someone tried the old sneak-in the collective line would loudly boo them into submission. That limited the butter-inners to only the most brazen and shameless.

At long last m’lady arrived at the window and scored a pair for both nights. She also bought an extra pair, specifically to sell to some random person at the back of the line. As we snaked the long line to do so m’lady found a friend in need and sold her the pair (at face value of course) and we raced to the gates, leaving hundreds of people still waiting in that impossible line. So many ninjas. The show was about to start and there was no way most of them would get tickets in time.

It was my first time at The Gorge. Approaching the venue all you can see is blue, blue sky, and then you reach the rim. Stepping over the edge the whole scene hits you at once: big, big sky falls into dusky mountains, between which the mighty Columbia River has carved a gulch that spans endlessly along the horizon in both directions. Below sits the stage, facing a series of highly sought-after rocky terraces filled with early birds clutching their precious cardboard poster tubes.

There were food and drink kiosks everywhere. The choices were plentiful and the wait nonexistent. We got a few drinks and a burger and had walked well away from the concession area before it occurred to us that we had been heavily undercharged. We found our way to the middle of the lawn, hooked up with some friends and got ready for the music.

The band started while the blazing sun was still up and doing its work. It was only a few songs in when the grand life-affirming ball of heat finally hit the mountain across the gorge and sunk out of sight. I was pleasantly surprised to hear the crowd applaud the sunset, just like back in the old days when people applauded when movies would end or planes would land. The collective joy in ridding the sky of such a monstrosity of swelter was very understandable. It was finally cool enough to consider some serious drinking!

The show was great, and what a joy to stand there completely unconcerned about the rain. Was it possible that the tourpocalypse of extreme weather had come to an end?

After the concert we got back to the campground in short order and did a bit of hanging about before hitting the air mattress fairly early on. My earplugs got a workout contending with the blasting stereos competing with the live bands outside my nylon walls, and sleep eventually came.

Overheard after the show: “Gotta love Phish! It’s 75% the music and 75% going to the show!”

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